


The Antithesis of Miraculous

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Jack/Liz Babyfic [1]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Baby Fic, Comedy, F/M, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New dads always think they invented the Circle of Life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Antithesis of Miraculous

Jack Donaghy was not a sentimentalist. The masses enjoyed referring to pregnancy as a miracle when one had been required for each of the six point seven (or was it six point eight? Jack wasn't sure) billion humans on the planet. Something with nearly seven billion instances was by definition the antithesis of miraculous.

On the other hand, the physical effects of pregnancy were rather noteworthy and caused bizarre reactions even among the most rational of men.

"You're staring at the bump again," Liz said helpfully, elbowing him in the ribs. "Which pondering was it this time?"

"Six point eight billion successful instances of human pregnancy indicates that pregnancy is not a miracle," Jack said, noting that Lemon had caught him out again. She'd been doing that since she first informed him he'd contributed half of the genetic material for this particular non-miracle and he had said something along the lines of Holy St. Francis, you're having my baby?

"Right," Lemon said, snickering. "I swear, for Mr. Rational and Hardcore Executive, you never get sick of staring at my enormous stomach and boobs and thinking, 'Behold my handiwork, lesser mortals!' Even if your contribution was ONE cell and the rest is all me nourishing the results of that ONE cell."

"Mother Nature, like many insecure women, likes to punish others of her gender," Jack replied blithely. "Not my fault."

Liz rolled her eyes. "I seem to recall that you agreed that my current swollen, stretch-marked, waddling, asparagus-and-bacon craving condition was half your fault," she said. "Twenty-five percent that came from your half of our stupidity in having 'do we have that kind of chemistry?' unprotected sex on your desk, and twenty-five percent that came from your speech about how you'd like some kind of legacy and that if I was in, you were in in whatever capacity we decided was okay."

That was true. They had in fact done the work of determining just how much of Lemon's unplanned pregnancy was actually Jack's fault, as Jack had pointed out -- to much shrieking and throwing of Skittles -- that Liz had been just as adamant that they go forward with their sexual experiment, despite the lack of contraceptives in the process.

There was also something comforting in knowing that if Jack had at last produced his own Donaghy bastard, it had been in a moment of genuine affection and that he trusted the mother of the child to not produce a back-stabbing monster who would later destroy him.

"Jack, you're staring again," Liz said, stepping on Jack's toe. "Remember how you have to negotiate with the nice sponsors about product placement on TGS and I have to come because it's the next step in my producing duties and because I was the one who said you can't advertise for alcopops inside my show?"

"Of course I remember," Jack lied. "Are you sure that's now?"

"I have pregnant-lady memory and I'm sure," Liz said. "You are so into this whole process. You want to be a d-a-d-d-y."

She sing-songed the last sentence, and Jack tried to glower. "That's ridiculous. We've agreed that I am not parent so much as a benevolent genetic donor."

"Yeah, and that's why when I asked for Chilean sea bass, you sent Kenneth to Fulton Street Market and told him that if he came back without it, he was fired," Liz replied. "And all those 'notes' you keep giving me about episodes."

Blast. Lemon was entirely too clever about remembering incidents that suggested Jack's interest in his future illegitimate child. If he wasn't careful, she'd bring up the fifteen minute post-coital monologue he'd delivered to her stomach about not having to be a socialist like Mommy.

He'd never been so pleased to see sleek, hungry advertisers in his life. Even if they all had given Liz a look that doubted her right to be here. Which was nonsense, because as head writer of TGS with Tracy Jordan, Lemon had a need to be here, and her pregnancy was far more distracting to others than to her.

"Mr. Donaghy?" one of the advertisers asked. Jack started. Oh, ye gods, had he said any of that aloud, or was he staring again? Jack flicked a look at Lemon, who was covering her eyes with her hand.

"I apparently spoke aloud," said Jack. Everyone half-nodded and looked away awkwardly.

"First pregnancy?" asked the only woman. "New dads are always the worst at 15 or 55. They think they invented the Circle of Life."

Liz, despite being the same color as ketchup, managed to laugh. "Next fall on NBC: a bunch shows about new fatherhood to commemorate Jack Donaghy's miraculous non-miracle," she said wryly. "Which makes me wonder who had a pregnant girlfriend when they greenlit Juno, Knocked Up, Waitress, et cetera at the same time."

Everyone chuckled, and Jack unclenched enough to look at Lemon herself, and not the bump. For someone whose hair was being kept up with two pencils, she was remarkably confident and in control of the situation at the moment. She even sat in the big negotiating chairs as the advertisers took their seats without so much as a stumble as Jack belatedly sat down next to her.

"Here's the thing, guys," Liz said. "While drunken acts of stupidity are the essence of comedy, handing Tracy Jordan a forty and Jenna Maroney the alcopop martini is racist and sexist and tired. It doesn't work, and I also think subtlety is the new subliminal."

Jack started to blink. Wait, Lemon had just said that? Lemon, who had actually sent Jack a copy of No Logo on three separate occasions? And she was the one who had just come up with a catchphrase that did Jack's profit-maximizing heart good?

"Mr. Donaghy is staring again," the little advertiser said.

"I'm sorry, I was feeling a swell of non-paternal pride," Jack said, reminding himself that he was an executive, by damn, and he wasn't going to forgo the opening his babymama had given him. "Ms. Lemon is absolutely correct. TGS may have a more blatant relationship with GE; however, their subtle mockery of GE is far closer to The Simpsons and their love-hate endorsements of Fox than what we would vulgarly call 'shilling.' However, we would still love to have your fine products on the program...in a passive format."

Liz raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything while Jack and the woman advertiser, Kristine, worked out preliminary details, with the final rates to be negotiated between actual advertising departments.

"Go team," Liz said, waddling back from a final quiet chat with Kristine that had most certainly included a few wry chuckles at Jack's expense. "Even if you did completely prove you are obsessed with my uterus and its contents."

"Ick," Jack said. Liz grimaced, too. "The phrasing of that was too graphic."

"Yeah, it kind of went there," Liz agreed. "I need to get back to the set now."

Jack nodded. "Of course."

Liz did her little awkward half-wave thing and laboriously waddled off. Her ankles were approximately the size of the Titanic now. Yes. Better to focus on the ankles than on anything else.

"Hey, Jackie D, what you starin' at?" Tracy asked. Jack jumped three feet and realized he'd just lost ten more minutes swearing to himself he had not wanted to chase after Lemon's waddling, seven-months'-gone figure.

Dear God, Jack needed to go on a date. With anyone. Anyone at all. His sympathetic mental pregnancy was rapidly reaching pathetic, if not long past.

"I'm absolutely sure I saw a mouse, but apparently not," Jack said. "Tray, you do actually have children, yes?"

Tracy nodded. "I knew this day was coming," he said. "It's freakin' you out that you're going to be a dad, right?"

"Well, technically, I'm not," Jack said. Tracy made a rude noise. "It's a very modern arrangement. I barely have any legal culpability for my love child once I sign off on my parental rights."

"Donaghy!" Tracy said, shaking his head. "You're not fooling anybody. I heard you just told a bunch of advertisers that they were all looking at your pregnant girlfriend too much."

"That's not exactly what I said," Jack protested feebly. "And Liz Lemon is not my girlfriend."

Tracy made the same rude noise. "I heard you two were going at it. That you were having a secret affair that everyone knows about. Is that true, Jack Donaghy?" he asked. "Because otherwise, I have some mysterious lady drawers in my room I need to find the source of."

"Who's the everyone who knows?" Jack asked, reminding himself to tell Jonathan to search Tracy's dressing room for the offending article. Good God, had they actually gone at it in there? When?

Oh, that was right, it had been when Tracy had tried to buy a tiger from that Malaysian crime syndicate in Long Island and Liz had started talking about how she'd expected the morning sickness and always having to pee, but not for her hips to hurt and for every item of clothing she owned to leave indents.

Jack had reasonably suggested that Liz wear less clothes. And that had led to very little clothing indeed.

"Everyone. That's like, everybody," Tracy said. "We all see it. It's like you have a homing device in your brain, but for your baby and its mama. You know -- boop boop boop boopboopboopboopBEEEEP -- baby!"

Tracy illustrated with his index fingers and head motions exactly how Jack tracked the baby with imaginary radar. Really, it was quite expressive.

"True or not, I'm not dating Liz," Jack repeated. "She's an employee and a friend I had a misguided night of passion with. That's all."

Tracy frowned. "Jack, I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but you're making me," he said. "Floyd from Legal is back and in the writers' room at this very moment. He's trying to make a play for Liz Lemon, big belly and all."

"Floyd?" Jack asked, sitting up abruptly. "What is he doing here? I bet that crafty bastard brought flowers."

Oh, hell.

And now Tracy was smirking at him. Tracy Jordan, the man who had once told Jack in all seriousness that he had stolen a stone of power from a Shaolin master he knew in Philly, made of shiny pink plastic.

"Psych! Floyd isn't here, but you got feelings for your baby mama, and that means you want to be that baby's daddy," Tracy said. "Cuz I ain't gonna lie. If I had gotten freaky-deaky with Liz Lemon and she got all knocked up and her ex-boyfriend was going to take her and my love child off my hands, I'd be gone so fast you wouldn't see my dust."

A horrible thought crossed Jack's mind. "You haven't, have you? Because then I'll have to have you killed, Tray, and I like you," he said. "Not enough to leave you alive if you've had sex with my pregnant inamorata, however."

"Liz Lemon is real nice, and it's been lots more fun working for her since she went up a cup size...but that would be sick and wrong," Tracy said. "I'm married! And I have no interest in getting down with a pregnant lady. That is not how Tracy Jordan rolls."

Right. For the first time, Jack realized that it was possible that he was the only one who found every strange new alteration to Lemon's body endlessly interesting and arousing.

"She's right. I do keep enjoying the view of my handiwork," Jack said to himself. Tracy patted him on the hand.

"It's one of those new dad things Pete was telling me about," Tracy said. "We figured because Pete's bald so you wouldn't have time for his advice. Ergo, we gave me the responsibility."

Jack nodded. Well, there was only one thing for it, and not just because while he was in denial about his powerful attraction to the mother of his illegitimate child, he was approximately a third less productive than usual.

"Where's Liz?" Jack asked.

"Getting a smoothie, Jackie D," Tracy said. "You gonna go get the girl?"

"That's one way of putting it," Jack said, standing up and smoothing his shirt.

Tracy had of course failed to mention that Liz's smoothie-getting had been a general event, with Jenna, Blonde Assistant, and Kenneth in tow with many smoothies, ostensibly for other crew and cast of TGS. Of course, Jenna and co stopped and did the back-and-forth tennis stare the moment they saw Jack.

"Hello, Mr. Donaghy," Kenneth said. "How are you?"

"Considerably distracted by the evils of evolutionary biology, Kenneth," Jack replied.

"Well, that's why my mama calls it evil-lution," Kenneth chirped.

"Shut up, Kenneth," Jack said before turning to Liz. "You, I came to talk to. I came to admit that you're entirely correct. I do indeed want to be a d-a-d-d-y and moreover, I have been rather inappropriately possessive of your person, given our circumstances."

Jenna and Blonde Assistant's eyes went really wide and hopeful, like Jack had just proposed. Lemon, of course, took a slurp off her smoothie and crooked an eyebrow.

"I'm right?" she asked. "Say it again."

"You're right," Jack said. "Don't chew on your straw."

"Don't tell me what to do. You're his father, not mine," Liz said. "Though I can see why you'd make that mistake."

"Liz!" Jenna said.

"What?" asked Liz, smirking and still chewing on her damn straw. Jack wanted to take it away from Liz, but had no illusions that the attempt would end with his thousand-dollar suit covered in blue goop.

"That was kind of mean," Jenna said.

"Seriously," Blonde Assistant agreed. "No guy has ever come up to me and declared that he wanted to be my baby's dad. It's totally sweet."

"I'm still confused what evils of evolutionary biology have you distracted, Mr. Donaghy," Kenneth added.

Jack spared Kenneth a glance. "The undeniable evidence of my own virility may be increasing my attraction to Miss Lemon, as the male partner's possessiveness about female partner and offspring is a mechanism that improves the viable survival of helpless small children."

"Oh," Kenneth said.

Blonde Assistant and Jenna looked equally confused. Lemon was gaping at him.

"That's not evolutionary biology, that evo-psych, and evo-psych is what lazy white men use to justify oppression," Liz said, hands on her hips. "Also, if you're trying to get the girl, you don't tell the girl you're only into her because you're turned on by your own manliness."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jenna was whispering something to Blonde Assistant, who nodded and ran off, probably to retrieve the rest of TGS so they could enjoy the fireworks.

"Don't make me do this in front of tourists, Lemon," Jack said. "We're adults."

"This man is in charge of East Coast Programming at NBC, everyone," Liz decided to yell. "If you ever wonder why shows like MILF Island exist, or why every show on NBC shilled for Bee Movie, it's this man's fault. VP of East Coast Programming, here to be heckled!"

"Bring back Seinfeld!" someone hollered.

"MILF Island ROCKS!" someone else added.

"Fuck Bee Movie!" a third person yelled. "That movie sucked!"

"And...and...he makes me put GE products in everything!" Liz added. "If you ever wondered why Boom-Boom, the airline-piloting cat is programming a GE microwave instead of flying a plane, it's Jack Donaghy's fault!"

Well, there was the crowd of gawking suburban tourists now circling around, and the unmistakable bellow of Tracy Jordan meant that Jack had somehow gone from trying to admit his affections for his pregnant writer lover to trying to escape the mob without getting cans of Diet Pepsi thrown at his head.

And for some reason, Jack didn't think announcing that this was all a large misunderstanding would work.

Wait. "You said I was his father. It's a boy?" Jack asked suddenly.

Lemon literally reeled. "Now you ask?" she asked.

"Why do you keep jerking Friday Night Lights fans around?" a woman shrieked. "It's the greatest show on television."

"It's a boy," Jack said. "Hot diggity damn."

"Yep, it's a boy. Your virility not only made me swell up to the size of a linebacker and gave me easily chafed nipples, your firstborn child will be a male child," Liz said, pausing to suck on her smoothie.

"Boo! Keep telling NBC secrets, lady!" one of the crowd shouted.

"You remember this moment when you're watching three different shows with titles that are euphemisms for pregnancy, buddy!" Liz said.

The boos got louder at that. It looked like Jack, his pregnant babymama, and Jack's future son were about to be the victims of an angry mob.

That was when Jack's personal savior decided to intervene...in the form of Kenneth leaping into the center of things.

"Now wait just a minute!" Kenneth shouted. "You people should be ashamed of yourselves. All of you. Angry mob, what are you doing? Most of you are from this morning's tour, aren't you? And didn't the wonder of seeing where television is made lift your spirits?"

The crowd made a shame-faced rumble of agreement.

"These two people bring us new television, new worlds, every day, and while we might miss Supercomputer, or The Cosby Show, or wonder why Deal or No Deal is on three times a week but we couldn't get a full season of Journeyman, we should be grateful to Mr. Donaghy and other network executives like him for the work it takes to make so much that we love," Kenneth finished. Everyone awwwed.

"Thank you, Kenneth," Jack said, clasping the page's hand.

"I'm not done," Kenneth said. "You should be ashamed of yourself, too. This woman is the mother of your child, sir. Even if you think that you're attracted to her for evil-utionary reasons, you should be a better man and be grateful for the precious gift of that filthy oopsie in your office."

The crowd managed the Fox network "oooooh" complete with catcalls, awws, and some plus-size Southern lady with an honest-to-God bouffant shaking her finger at him.

"And Miss Lemon...you actually tried to incite a riot," Kenneth said. "Did you really want these nice people to tear Mr. Donaghy apart?"

Liz tried to look at her feet, but was clearly staring at the bump. His son. Their son.

"I just wanted someone to huck a donut at your fat head," Liz said sullenly. "Preferably a powdered one with jelly filling. I was getting all teary-eyed and excited, and you wrecked it, and now I have heartburn and your evilspawn is kicking my bladder on purpose."

"Lemon, I will buy you six dozen donuts and you can huck them at me to your burning heart's content. But not in front of a mob of slack-jawed Middle American tourist yokels," Jack said.

Liz burst into tears. Despite appearances, this was a good sign. "But now I feel like a giant douchebag!" she wailed. "I hate pregnancy hormones. And I really have to pee."

"All right, we'll get you to a bathroom and then we can discuss if donut-hucking is in our immediate future," Jack said.

Kenneth simper-smiled. "Don't you two feel better now that you know each other cares?" he asked.

"Bite me, Kenneth, this isn't an After-School Special" said Liz, just as Jack said, "Stop gawking and get out of the way of my pregnant girlfriend, people."

The sea of idiots parted, and Jack helped Liz out of the mob as they very slowly let them through. She craned her head up and grinned at him.

"Oh, say it," Liz said. "You know you want to, and this way I can huck a donut at you without guilt."

Jack chuckled, ran a hand through his hair, and maybe got a bit red. But he said it anyway.

"Behold our handiwork, lesser mortals, and tremble," he murmured. At that, Liz leaned back against him a little closer, squeezing his hand briefly.

"Aww, you remembered I'm doing some work, too," Liz said. "Now push me harder, or I'm going to pee all over your shoes, k?"


End file.
